Congratulations, you're an amazing writer!!! Would you write a prompt were Dean has been searching for you for a long time and when he founds you he apologise for hurting you and says he would follow you anywhere and some nice smut :)
Author’s Note: set during season 3, before Dean goes to Hell
Warnings: kind of angsty, smut, Dean smut
“Six years, Y/N!” Dean’s voice was raised, but you couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. “Six years I’ve been looking for you!”
“It wasn’t like I was hiding, Dean,” you retorted. “I’ve been right here.”
“I never thought you’d come back here,” he said. “Not after what happened.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and licked his lips nervously. He dropped into the recliner behind him, sitting on the edge of it. “Look, I…I need to apologize. I never wanted to hurt you. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel like shit because of what happened.”
“I never blamed you,” you said quietly. “But I couldn’t live like that anymore. I had to walk away.” You glanced nervously at the hunter sitting across your living room from you. Six years hadn’t changed the way you felt about him. “It wasn’t because I stopped loving you.”
Dean didn’t move for a good thirty seconds, he just stared at a spot on the wall above your head. You were beginning to think he hadn’t heard you or maybe he was intentionally ignoring what you’d said, trying to think of some way to tell you that he’d never loved you.
“And now?” he asked. “How do you feel about me now?”
You weren’t sure, but you could have sworn you heard a slight waver in his voice. You cleared your throat, watching him carefully. You couldn’t be sure what his reaction would be, but you’d never lied to Dean and you weren’t about to start now.
“I still love you, Dean,” you murmured. “I’ll always love you.”
“There is no but,” you replied. “I love you. Even after six years, I love you. I think about you all the time and I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t left. Right now all I can think about is whether or not kissing you would feel just as good as it did before.”
Dean propelled himself off of the recliner so fast you didn’t have time to blink before he pulled you into his arms and smashed his lips against yours. He gently sucked at your lower lip, pulling it between his teeth, nipping it gently. His hands on your waist were a familiar, comfortable weight, one you hadn’t realized you’d missed until that second. His scent - Old Spice, leather and gunpowder - filled your nose, sense memories flooding your head. God, he even tasted the same, like coffee and mint gum. You couldn’t help the desperate moan that left your mouth as his tongue slid past your teeth, exploring what he was already intimately familiar with.
All that mattered in that moment was Dean. You needed him like the air you breathed, wanted him like you’d always wanted him.
And he knew, just like he always had. He’d always been able to read you like a book and that hadn’t changed. You didn’t have to say a word, because Dean was pulling off his shirt and toeing off his boots, somehow still kissing you despite the removal of his clothing. You followed suit, making short work of the sparse amount of clothing you’d been wearing when Dean pounded on your door at two a.m.
“Jesus, I missed you,” Dean growled. “Every inch of you.” He kissed a trail down your neck to your breasts, suckling at each of them in turn, smiling as you moaned and squirmed beneath him. He was just as good with his mouth as you remembered, maybe better.
His hand hovered over you, close enough to touch, but not quite doing it, as he looked up and into your eyes. “I can’t stay, Y/N,” he whispered. “You know I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if I could, but that’s not going to happen. I need to know that you’re okay with that, before we do anything else.” His eyes were filled with a sadness you’d never seen before, one you couldn’t possibly understand.
You wanted to question him, delve into that brain of his and figure out what was going on, why he seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, but something in the way he was looking at you, in the way need seemed to be radiating from him, stopped you. Your answer was to take his hand and pull it between your legs, sighing as his fingers brushed over your warm core.
Dean’s nose brushed against yours as he kissed you, his fingers slipping carefully inside you, just to the first knuckle, teasing you, caressing your inner walls, pushing you right to the cusp of an orgasm. Your hips rose to meet his fingers, silently begging for more. Dean slid his arm around your back, his fingers sinking into you, the palm of his hand pressed against your clit, holding you as he used his hand to push you closer and closer to the edge, long, thick fingers pumping in and out of you, his breath hot against your skin as his mouth moved over your neck and breasts.
You groaned in protest when Dean moved, shifting to his back, pulling you with him. He positioned you so you were straddling him, your legs on either side of his hips. You put your hands on his chest and lowered yourself onto him, whimpering as he filled you. Once he was fully seated inside you, he put his hands on your hips, thrusting up into you.
You moved, sliding your hips forward, meeting Dean thrust for thrust. His head dropped back, his eyes squeezed closed, low, quiets grunts of pleasure emanating from him. Every tip of his hips brushed his cock against your sweet spot, his pelvic bone pressed against your clit, stimulating the tiny nub of nerves, rapidly pushing you to orgasm. You tensed around him as you came, clenching, working him like he’d worked you, pulling him with you, both of you climaxing together.
Once it was over, you lay sprawled over him, breathing heavily, your fingers intertwined with his. Dean kept pressing soft kisses to the top of your head, rubbing your back.
You must have fallen asleep, because the next time you opened your eyes, the sun was just peeking through the drapes of your living room. You were still on the couch, a blanket from your bedroom thrown over you. You sat up, calling Dean’s name. When he didn’t answer, you glanced around, looking for the note you know he’d left you. It was on the coffee table, held down by your gun.
I never meant to hurt you. I love you, too. - D
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